A Twist In Time
by TatorTotTottish
Summary: When a Ministry of Magic inquiry of Time-Turners leads to the improper destruction of one, Hermione Granger finds herself back in the year 1997 (her Sixth Year at Hogwarts) - nearly five years in the past. Stuck in the past, Hermione must find a way to return to the present, but she soon develops an unexpected friendship with a former professor of hers who she knows to be dead.
1. Chapter 1

**A few notes before you read:**

**This story is 100% accurate and true to the original Harry Potter book series (besides the fanfiction part of it, of course). Spoiler alert if you have not completed the Harry Potter book series, as this story takes place a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Love, **

**TatorTotTottish**

* * *

"Oi, that's cheating!"

"No, is isn't! It's called strategy, Ron!"

"It does seem like cheating, Harry."

"Ginny, he can make him draw four cards," Hermione Granger laughed. "That's how you play UNO."

Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Potter (formerly Weasley) sat on the carpeted floor of the living room in the Burrow. The group was gathered around the small coffee table that sat just in front of the fireplace. Colorful cards from the game UNO littered the surface of the table in front of them. It was a comfortable Sunday evening in early March. The group had just finished a lovely dinner dedicated to Ron's twenty-second birthday, which had been about a week prior. They had been joined by and Molly Weasley, as well as George Weasley with his wife Angelina and their newborn son, Fred.

Unfortunately, none of the other Weasleys could make it to the Burrow that evening. Bill Weasley and his wife, Fleur, were originally going to attend with their two-year-old daughter, Victoire, but Fleur had suffered an extreme bought of fatigue at the last minute. As she was currently seven months pregnant with her and Bill's second daughter, no one objected to them having a quiet night at home. In fact, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione had been adamant the couple stay home after hearing of their situation; no one really fancied being around Fleur and her picky tastes, which only worsened the more her pregnancy progressed. Percy Weasley and his wife, Audrey, had also been unable to attend – their reasons unknown. Finally, Charlie Weasley was on a last-minute dragon expedition somewhere in Romania that was expected to keep him busy until the end of August that year. Since the birthday dinner had been a last-minute demand of Mrs. Weasley's, they hadn't the time to really invite anyone outside of their immediate family.

Following dinner, the group had helped Mrs. Weasley with cleaning the kitchen. Then, George and Angelina had said their goodbyes to head home and put their baby boy to bed. Next, Mr. Weasley (now newly retired) had happily retreated to his shed to tinker with some new muggle contraption called a Bluetooth (something both Hermione and Harry had chuckled at upon hearing). Mrs. Weasley had begun to boil a kettle of water for tea when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had moved to the living room in agreement on playing a card game. Hermione had brought along the game UNO, stating that Ron needed to try muggle games, much to his displeasure and much to Harry's amusement. They were currently partway through their "practice round," designed to teach Ron and Ginny how to play. Harry had just placed a Draw 4 card down on the pile of discarded cards, which affected Ron, who sat to his immediate left.

"This game is rubbish," Ron muttered. "I was nearly down to one card!"

At this, the group couldn't help but laugh at Ron's frustration.

"Tea and cookies!" Mrs. Weasley called as she entered the living room with a tray. The four each happily retrieved a mug and cookie from a beaming Mrs. Weasley, who's brilliant ginger hair had begun to grey in places. Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen, leaving the group to take a break from the game so that they could sit and properly chat as they enjoyed their evening treats.

"Well, happy birthday, mate," Harry said as he clapped Ron on the shoulder.

"'Aanks," Ron answered with his mouth full of the cookie he had just bitten into.

"Ron," Hermione sighed with a laugh at her husband.

Her and Ron had been married for just over two years, and he still managed to act like– well, he still managed to act like Ron.

"Wha?" Ron shrugged; his mouth was still full.

Ginny leaned forward and covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress her rising giggles, her ginger hair (now cut to just above her shoulders) falling in front of her face as she did so. Harry grinned broadly at his wife.

"So, Ginny," Hermione said, trying to move the conversation forward. "You seem to be enjoying playing for the Holyhead Harpies."

"I really am," Ginny smiled, happy to talk about her professional Quidditch career. "Though I don't know if I'll do it forever. It's fun for now, though."

"You have a match tomorrow night, don't you?" Ron piped up.

"We're playing the Appleby Arrows," Ginny said with a nod.

"Well, right now you're playing me," Ron stated smugly as he resumed his position at the table, retrieving his UNO cards as he did so.

The group laughed and joined him at the table, picking the game up where they had left off. The four played well into the night, everyone winning at least one game – well, everyone except for Ron, who was far from thrilled. The group shared stories of their work lives, catching one another up, and sharing quite a few laughs every now and then. Hours later, as the night came to an end, the two couples said their goodbyes to one another and to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before they ventured to the end of the yard, where they Apparated on the spot.

After a pop (and a brief moment of feeling as if they were being pressed upon from all directions), Hermione and Ron emerged in front of the building complex they had rented a flat in now for nearly three years. Hand-in-hand, the couple made their way up to their home. It wasn't long before the two were in their pajamas and tucked comfortably in bed. When Hermione turned to bid Ron goodnight less than thirty minutes later, he was already fast asleep and snoring. Hermione chuckled softly to herself as she reached over and turned off the lamp placed on her bedside table.

The next morning, Hermione awoke to her alarm with a small smile. She had slept well and was looking forward to another week at work. She had been working at the Ministry of Magic as Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for almost two years, and she thoroughly enjoyed her job. It was also nice to work alongside Harry and Ron at the Ministry, as both worked in the Auror Department, the main division under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Hermione rose from bed quietly – careful not to wake her snoring husband – and snuck into the bathroom, where she showered before going through her typical morning routine to get ready for work. Exiting the bathroom, Hermione then walked quietly to the closet and began looking through her clothes, pondering what to wear. Wanting to show some support for her sister-in-law and her Quidditch team (who would be playing later that day), Hermione eventually decided to dress down from her usual professional robes into a simple pair of blue jeans and the Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt Ginny had given her for Christmas. She completed the outfit with a pair of dark green and white sneakers, which matched her sweatshirt's colors perfectly.

Ready for the day, Hermione crept across the hardwood floors of their flat until she arrived in the kitchen. She had just finished preparing a pot of coffee when a large Barn owl began pecking at one of the closed windows in the kitchen.

"Right on time," Hermione smiled as she opened the window and took the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet _from the delivery-owl before slipping a knut into the small pouch tied to the owl's left leg. As soon as Hermione shut the window, a yawning Ron shuffled into the kitchen.

"Just like clockwork," Hermione chuckled. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Mornin'," Ron replied groggily as he poured himself a cup of hot coffee.

Hermione flipped open the newspaper and sat down at their small dining table. Ron joined her a moment later, placing a cup of coffee in front of his wife before taking his seat across from her.

"Today's a big day," Ron smiled, now wide awake as he took a swig from his own mug. "We're destroying Time-Turners."

"Time-Turners?" Hermione asked, curiously raising her eyes from the _Daily Prophet_. "I thought the Time-Turners had all been destroyed in our Fifth Year after the whole Department of Mysteries situation."

"Well, sort of. Apparently one of the bloody things fell over and trapped the entire lot of 'em in this endless time loop of falling over and over again. The Ministry says they're rubbish now, completely useless. They asked the Auror Department to take care of 'em so they don't ever become a problem. Harry and I volunteered."

"So, you boys are going to spend the day destroying Time-Turners?" Hermione chuckled.

"Yeah, but it's real hush-hush, Hermione, so not a word," Ron grinned, winking at his wife.

With that, Ron returned to their bedroom to get ready for his day. Approximately twenty-minutes later, he emerged in the living room wearing a pair of jeans and a dark green long-sleeve shirt. Apparently neither one felt like dressing professionally that day.

"Ready?" Ron called to Hermione, who had just finished placing their coffee mugs in the dishwasher.

"Supporting Ginny, too?" Hermione smiled when she entered the living room and saw his dark green shirt.

"Don't tell her," Ron laughed as he retrieved a small pot from atop the fireplace.

"Have a great day," Hermione lovingly grinned at Ron as she planted a kiss on his lips and took a handful of the grey powder from the pot in his hands. "I love you."

"Right back at you," Ron said with a raise of his eyebrows.

Hermione stepped into the fireplace's now green flames, gave her husband one last lingering smile, and threw down the powder.

"The Ministry of Magic!" she called.

Then, Hermione was off.

An instant later, the witch emerged into the bustling grand hall of the Ministry, joining the growing morning crowd emerging from nearby fireplaces. She didn't hesitate as she strode off in the direction of the lifts, dusting any remaining ashes from her jeans as she walked.

"Good morning, Miss Granger!" a booming voice called pleasantly.

"Good morning, Minister," Hermione beamed as Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt easily fell in step beside her.

"I trust you are well today."

"Yes, sir. I trust you are also well."

The pair had reached the growing lines for the lifts, though most parted to allow the Minister and his companion through first.

"Absolutely, Miss Granger, it's a beautiful day!" Kingsley laughed as he gestured for Hermione to enter a lift ahead of him. "And I hope to discuss this position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with you soon."

For several weeks now, Kingsley had been trying to convince Hermione to take a promotion to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement alongside Harry and Ron. Kingsley had stated that she showed real potential, especially with her already being the Head of a Ministry department at such a young age. He frequently told Hermione that the promotion could set her up for a very successful future, one in which she should seriously consider being Minister for Magic. Though she was flattered, Hermione still had her reservations. There had been controversy when a muggle-born witch became Head of a department, as there always was with anything similar to this matter, and it made Hermione slightly nervous to consider such a major promotion. Voldemort may be dead, but his beliefs were still occasionally echoed in the Wizarding World. Of course, Hermione had expressed these concerns time and time again, but Kingsley still insisted.

"Minister," Hermione chuckled. "You know I am quite fond of my current position as Head of the Department of Magical Creatures."

"I'm not hearing a 'no!'" Kingsley chortled as the lift's grilles slid shut.

"Allow me to consider it," Hermione stated politely as the two reached up and caught hold of the safety handles dangling above them.

The lift skidded upward from the main floor of the Ministry, its patrons swaying slightly as it did so.

"Only if you _actually_ consider it," Kingsley continued. "I want you to really give this promotion some thought."

"Yes, sir," Hermione smiled, listening distantly to the female voice announce floor after floor until–

"Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Sprit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

"You have a good day, Minister," Hermione stated as she moved to exit the lift.

"You too," the wizard called back. "Oh, and Hermione?"

The use of her first name in a professional setting made Hermione stop and look back in surprise at Kingsley, who was still crowded in the lift with several other wizards and witches.

"I love the sweatshirt," Kingsley finished with a genuine smile just as the grilles slid shut once more and the lift ascended.

Hermione made her way down the corridor to her office, still grinning from ear-to-ear at Kingsley's compliment. She greeted her receptionist politely, then entered her large office. Hermione's office was circular, with several full bookshelves lining the walls and a large mahogany desk in the upper center of the room. Glowing sunlight streamed in from the office's windows that had been enchanted to reflect whatever weather Magical Maintenance had decided upon for that day. Hermione smiled cheerfully at the sight of her office, which she had grown quite fond of over the last two years. Being Head of the Ministry's second largest department certainly had its perks, and Hermione was grateful for the extravagant office; it had become her home-away-from-home in more ways than one.

The first part of the work day passed somewhat uneventfully for Hermione. The witch wrote a few reports, attended a couple of meetings, and sent out more Interdepartmental memos than she cared for. Around lunchtime, Hermione received notice from her receptionist that her last meeting for the day had been cancelled, much to her disappointment. With a bit of free time now on her hands, she decided to do some exploring. After informing her receptionist that she would be out for lunch, Hermione made her way back to the lifts.

"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services," the female voice announced after the lift had ascended two floors.

Hermione exited the lift, followed the corridor down, turned a corner, and walked through a pair of heavy oak doors. When she emerged through the doors, she found herself in a cluttered, open area divided into cubicles. A sign (which was a little lopsided) on the nearest cubicle read "Auror Headquarters." Just then, a hefty man appeared from one of the cubicles, his arms filled with several pieces of parchment.

"Hello, Mr. Robards," Hermione greeted the man politely.

Gawain Robards, current Head of the Auror Department, gave Hermione a broad grin.

"Granger! Good to see ya!" he called. "What can I do for ya today?"

"I was looking for Ron," Hermione stated with a sweeping glance over the room. "I understand he and Harry have an important task today, so I don't want to interrupt if they're bu–"

"Nonsense, Granger! You're a bright one; I know you won't give me any trouble!" Mr. Robards roared before he turned and nodded toward the far corner of the room. "Last door on the left, my dear."

"Thank you, Mr. Robards," Hermione said with a polite nod before continuing past him.

A few moments later, Hermione came to the "last door on the left," as Mr. Robards had directed her. Hermione knocked lightly, then entered the tiny room and closed the door behind her, where she found Harry and Ron standing on opposite sides of a decently sized table.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said with a smile and a little wave.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione answered, returning the smile. "Hey, Ron."

Ron stepped forward and greeted her with a swift kiss to her forehead, earning him a beaming smile from Hermione.

"My meeting with Mr. Scamander was cancelled at the last minute, so I figured I'd pop in and see how the Time-Turner destroying was coming along," Hermione explained. "Hope you two don't mind."

"Not at all," Harry said with a nod. "We were just discussing what to do with this last one."

"Little git is giving us some trouble, ya see," Ron grumbled as he gestured toward the single Time-Turner that sat on the table between the two men.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully and spared a glance around. The room the three stood in was painted in various shades of gray and was barren, with the exception of the table that sat in the middle. A cardboard box filled to the brim with demolished Time-Turners sat on the floor near Ron's feet.

"Why is this one giving you trouble?" Hermione asked as her eyes fell back on the lone survivor of the Time-Turner massacre.

"Not sure," Harry shrugged. "The Ministry gave us specific directions on how to get rid of them, but this one won't break down."

"Is it a different model, maybe?" Hermione inquired.

"Looks the same," Ron said with a shake of his head. "Come on, Harry, let's just blow the thing up."

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione gasped. "I have known you for nearly twelve years and that is the daftest idea you have ever had!"

"You have a better idea?"

"Anything that doesn't blow a hole in time! I mean, honestly!"

"She's right, Ron," Harry sighed. "We have to destroy them properly or we could do something stupid, like bring Voldemort back from the dead."

At this, all three shivered slightly at the dramatic yet horrific thought.

"Well, have you considered destroying it manually, like without magic?" Hermione reasoned as she tapped her wand against her lips in thought.

"Like with a hammer?" Harry laughed.

"Maybe," Hermione said, her forehead scrunched in thought. "I don't see how that would be any better than blowing it up, though."

"Guess we'll just have to ask Kingsley what to do with it," Ron shrugged as he picked up the Time-Turner.

The three departed the room, Ron in the lead, the Time-Turner in his hand. Ron was in the middle of making an inappropriate joke to Harry when he stumbled over his own feet.

It happened too fast for anyone to do anything. The Time-Turner tumbled from Ron's grasp and fell to the carpeted floor and before Hermione could register the Time-Turner's new location, she treaded across it, the timepiece crunching under her right sneaker. A loud bang shook the floor and the room flooded with a brilliant white light. Hermione stumbled backwards. She then shut her eyes and instinctively brought her arms up to shield her face, her wand still in her right hand's grasp. She distantly heard Ron yell something, but she couldn't quite make out what was said. Suddenly, Hermione felt her entire body jolt backwards, as if an invisible force were violently pulling her away from the scene.

Then, everything was quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione stood still for a few moments, listening to the world around her. Her eyes were still closed tightly, and she was still holding her arms up near her head with her wand in her hand.

It was eerily quiet.

After another few moments of silence, Hermione slowly lowered her arms and opened her eyes. She gasped as her eyes focused on the stone wall opposite to her. Hermione didn't even need to look around at the rest of the large corridor – which she knew to have a marble floor and large windows breaking up the stone walls every few meters – to know the place where she had spent the good part of seven years of her life.

"Hogwarts," Hermione exhaled.

Hermione could feel herself on the edge of hyperventilating. What happened? Where were Harry and Ron? Why was she at Hogwarts?

"Miss Granger, do you care to explain what you are doing?" a familiar voice hissed.

Hermione spun on the spot, her wand held up at the ready, and came face-to-face with none other than Severus Snape.

"Snape," Hermione breathed, utterly shocked to see her deceased potions professor standing before her.

Sickening memories from the Battle of the Hogwarts were suddenly at the forefront of Hermione's mind; the strong smell of earth around her, Harry, and Ron as they crawled through the underground tunnel that connected the base of the Whomping Willow to the decrepit Shrieking Shack… the horrifying hiss that was Voldemort speaking in Parseltongue as he ordered Nagini to kill… a pale Severus Snape clutching uselessly at his own bleeding throat as he lay dying on the floor…

Hermione mentally shook herself, unintentionally taking a small step away from Snape and lowering her wand in abject apology.

"You will address me properly, Miss Granger, or you will refrain from addressing me at all," Snape snapped at her without a moment's hesitation. "And you will put your wand away or you will soon find yourself in detention!"

Snape's eyebrows furrowed as he looked more closely at the paling girl; she looked like she had seen a ghost. He quickly surveyed the rest of her, his eyebrows knotting further at the sight of her blue jeans and Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt. The young witch before him also seemed a bit different, but Snape couldn't quite place it – she looked older, perhaps?

Hermione only continued to stare at the wizard with wide eyes, unable to speak. It didn't take long for Snape to become greatly irritated.

"Do you have somewhere to _be_, Miss Granger?"

"I–uhm–well," Hermione stumbled, trying to pull her thoughts together. "I was–uh, well–"

"For Merlin's sake, _spit it out_."

"I-I was actually looking for you, s-sir," Hermione finished meekly.

Snape's black eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, expecting him to snap at her again.

"Very well," the professor drawled after a moment. "Come with me."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a slight sigh of relief as she watched Snape turn on his heels and begin striding off down the corridor without another word, his dark cloak billowing behind him. She quickly followed behind, her mind still reeling. The man before Hermione was no longer one of her professors – he was no longer one of the living, to be matter of fact – yet he still managed to greatly intimidate her. Despite this intimidation, Hermione couldn't bring herself to look away from Snape as he walked just a few paces ahead of her, each step taken with purpose. In fact, it was her intent staring that saved her moments later when Snape suddenly took a sharp left turn down a set of winding stairs, a movement she would have missed otherwise.

As the pair descended the staircase, they passed a large glass-pane window and Hermione spared a glance out. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked just as it did in her school days, with the castle seated high upon massive rocks and sloping lawns stretched below it. The sun was high in the sky, casting a brilliant light over the school grounds, and Hermione could just catch a glimpse of the surface of the Black Lake twinkling in the distance before they passed the window. A small twinge of longing made Hermione's chest tighten as they continued down the stairs. She missed Hogwarts. For Harry, Ron, and Hermione, it had been hard leaving Hogwarts after their Sixth Year, only to return during the school's darkest hour and watch it sustain serious damage. After the battle, magical self-regeneration properties had returned the school to its former glory, but the trio's time there was complete. With that, the three went on with their lives, promising that they would find a time to visit and reminisce of their younger days. Sadly, that promise was still unfulfilled. Now, as Hermione followed Snape down another lengthy corridor, she vowed to drag the three of them back for a visit as soon as she sorted out her current situation – what situation that was, she was still unsure.

They were in the dungeons now, quickly coming upon Snape's office. The scent of damp stones was unmistakable in this part of the castle; Hermione was sure that she could find her way down to the lower levels of the school on the sense of smell alone, even after all these years. After a few paces, Snape turned right to enter his office. With a flick of his wand, the wooden door swung open with an obnoxiously loud groan and the pair entered the dark room. Hermione watched Snape wave his wand absentmindedly once again, lighting the candles in the room and closing the door behind them with a loud click. Hermione took a moment to take in the room with its many shelves that were lined with large glass jars filled with slimy, revolting things. Snape's large wooden desk sat near the back of the office, dominating the room easily. Hermione noted that there were quite a few pieces of parchment and ink jars scattered across the surface of his desk.

At the sight of the many potions ingredients on the walls, a wave of nostalgia flooded over Hermione once again as she recalled the many potions lessons she had sat through with Harry and Ron at her side. She smiled at the thought of Harry and Ron frequently coming to her for help on their essays; essays she would always choose to write for them in the end, of course.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The impatient voice cut through Hermione's memories like a cold knife of reality as she looked up and caught Snape's cold eyes on her. Her former professor was stiffly leaned against the front of his desk, his arms crossed. Hermione's smile immediately disappeared from her lips at the sight of the scowl on his face.

"Uh–sorry," she muttered. "I was just… thinking."

Snape nearly opened his mouth to reply with a scathing retort, but thought better of it at the last minute, choosing rather to stay silent and watch the young witch. She looked around the office seemingly dazed, as if she were in a dream, and Snape felt his eyebrows raise in puzzlement. He still couldn't quite understand what made her seem so different. He had just seen Hermione in Defence Against the Dark Arts class the day before, the same insufferable know-it-all who couldn't quite understand when to keep her mouth shut, but the young woman who stood in his office now was not the Hermione he had seen the day before. This Hermione seemed grown, more mature, as if she had been blessed with some unknown wisdom overnight. He watched her for a moment more, pondering as he did so, then decided to break the silence.

"Miss Granger, I consider my time to be incredibly precious."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to–it's just, well–I'm a bit in awe, I suppose."

At her words, Snape's tense posture relaxed slightly, though he still watched her with morbid curiosity.

"'In awe,' Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione nodded, her heart thumping rapidly. "You see, I'm afraid I've found myself in a very peculiar situation."

"And what situation would that be?"

"I think," Hermione began breathlessly. "I think I'm stuck in the past."

Snape stared at the witch, trying to understand if he had heard her correctly. Her bright brown eyes watched him, waiting.

"Miss Granger," Snape sneered after a moment. "I can assure you that I do not find this amusing in the slightest."

Hermione stared at her former professor with a growing sense of anxiety, though she couldn't quite say she was surprised by his reaction. She knew it was going to be difficult for the wizard to understand, but she couldn't think of anywhere else to go. With that in mind, the two remained in Snape's office for an hour. In that hour, Hermione explained how a routine Ministry inquiry had resulted in an exploded Time-Turner that had apparently blasted her several years into the past. She tried relentlessly to prove who she really was – a twenty-three-year-old Ministry official with a husband and a future life of her own. Hermione figured Snape would view this all as an ill-timed joke, but she needed him to believe her if she had any hope of returning to her own time. Hermione guessed that no matter what year she had travelled back to, it was a time when Snape knew her as one of his current students – an annoying Gryffindor, nonetheless – and that he had no idea who the witch in front of him truly was. Hermione assessed her former professor with observant eyes as they spoke. Considering the facts that the two were speaking in Snape's office and that he hadn't been absolutely shocked to see Hermione, it was clear that she had travelled to a time before what would have been her Seventh Year at Hogwarts – the year that Snape had become Headmaster and the year that Hermione had left with Harry and Ron to hunt for Horcruxes. Then, by the look of the dark circles under Snape's eyes that clearly expressed his high level of stress, Hermione guessed that she had travelled to her Sixth, maybe Fifth, Year. Regardless of the time, Hermione couldn't stay.

"Professor, I know I sound mad, but I need you to listen to me," Hermione pleaded. "I'm asking you to just listen."

Snape simply stared at the witch, his face unchanging and his dark eyes unblinking. The look wasn't quite encouraging, but Hermione proceeded onward, nonetheless.

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger," Hermione repeated for what seemed like the dozenth time. "I am twenty-three-years-old. I work at the Ministry of Magic as Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I am married to Ronald Weasley, and have been for just over two years. I left Hogwarts at the end of the Spring Term in 1999 and immediately began working for the Ministry. This morning, in my time, the Aurors were asked to officially destroy all of the Ministry's Time-Turners that were rendered useless years ago. One was destroyed improperly, and it must have set off a shockwave of some sort, sending me back in time."

"Miss Granger, I have had quite enough of this," Snape snarled, his voice rising in anger and confusion as he straightened up quickly. "I have listened to you spin this tale for far too long."

"Professor, what is today's date?" Hermione countered.

Snape nearly blanched at her seemingly idiotic question, but Hermione only waited expectantly. After a moment, the man begrudgingly obliged.

"Tuesday, March 11, 1997," Snape drawled.

"So, nearly the end of our Sixth Year," Hermione murmured, more to herself than aloud.

"Miss Granger–"

"It's 2002," Hermione exclaimed quickly. "In my time, the date is Monday, March 11, 2002."

At this, Snape snorted.

"Professor, _please_!" Hermione stated, feeling herself growing more and more flustered. "I'm telling you the truth! I'm Hermione! I'm twenty-three, I work for the Ministry, I'm married to Ron, I left Hogwarts three years ago, and a destroyed Time-Turner sent me back in time!"

Maybe he needed to hear it several times, or maybe it was the tone in the young witch's voice, but Snape felt his skepticism ebb away at her words. Hermione could see the change in his eyes, as if a literal shadow of doubt had lifted.

"I believe you, Miss Granger," Snape said gruffly.

"_Oh_, thank, Merlin!" Hermione sighed with a relieved smile. "Now, I need your help."

Snape's eyebrows raised immediately.

"My help, Miss Granger?"

"I need to get back to my own time," Hermione said with a little edge to her voice, as if what she had said wasn't already obvious enough.

"This involves me, how?"

"No one can know I'm from the future, Professor," Hermione reasoned. "No one can even see me. It could permanently alter time. Imagine if I ran into my younger self! I've already told you everything, and I can't risk telling others."

"I still fail to see how this is my problem," Snape stated emotionlessly. "This seems like a situation for the Headmaster."

Hermione's heart lurched at the thought of Albus Dumbledore. In her haste, she had completely forgotten that her former Headmaster was still alive, most likely somewhere in the castle at that very moment. In just a few months, Hermione knew that the great wizard would meet his end at the base of the Astronomy Tower. Despite knowing the entire ordeal would be orchestrated well beforehand, Hermione's heart still skipped at the thought that Dumbledore's death would come at the hand of Snape, all right in front of Harry. Hermione longed to flee to Dumbledore's office in that moment, to hear his guiding voice once more, to trust him to help her, but she knew better. She knew that in their Sixth Year, Dumbledore had been occupied with Voldemort's Horcruxes and subsequently developing a plan on how to best direct Harry to find and destroy them. His plans later proved to be instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort. She couldn't risk altering time by proving to be a distraction for Dumbledore at such a crucial junction. Hermione didn't exactly like her odds with Snape helping her, but something in the pit of her stomach told her to trust him. If Ron could hear her thoughts right now, Hermione knew he would argue that Snape was a "greasy git," but she chose to ignore this thought for the sake of wanting to go home and see Ron again.

"Professor," Hermione said, her voice dipping into a pleading tone once again. "I need _your_ help. My being here has to stay between us. Professor Dumbledore can't know of this."

Sensing that the young witch before him knew of something sinister, Snape hesitated, but eventually nodded slowly. In this moment, Snape surprised himself as he chose to trust Hermione and follow her lead accordingly.

"Very well, Miss Granger. This shall remain between us."


	3. Chapter 3

"You can sleep in here, Miss Granger."

The guest bedroom in Snape's private quarters wasn't much – a twin-sized bed, a two-drawer nightstand with a lamp, a large dresser, and a small desk were the only contents. The room also came with a decent-sized closet, though it was barren besides a couple of extra blankets and pillows stacked on the top shelf. Snape watched Hermione as she peered in at the small guest bedroom and surveyed the setup. He remained steadfast as he held the room's door open, but Snape couldn't help noting the young witch's remarkably calm expression as she stared past him, especially given the situation. He also couldn't quite bring himself to adjust to how mature the Hermione before him was, how she held herself with confidence and brilliance; it was certainly a personality change from the Hermione he knew in his own time_._

Snape knew the room wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could give the young witch on such short notice; they could possible rearrange things as time went on. After he had agreed to not only help Hermione, but also keep the secret of her time travel between the two of them, Snape had shown her to his private quarters, which were not far from his office in the dungeons. As he couldn't think of any other place she would be able to secretly stay for an undetermined amount of time, Snape could do nothing but show her around his Hogwarts home, sharing his space with another person for the first time in many years. Hermione had remained quiet during the tour, taking it all in as she followed the wizard. In a way, Hermione's silence almost made Snape uneasy. He was skeptical of the witch the moment she started spouting off about time travel, but he chose to believe in her, nonetheless. However, her immediate refusal of the Headmaster's assistance also set Snape on edge, as if he were missing a very important piece of information only known to her. On top of that, there was still the question of how Hermione would return to her own time, and what role Snape would play in getting her there. It was a situation based on the fundamental characteristic that there were more questions than answers. For the time-being, Snape pushed his thoughts aside and resigned himself to first introducing Hermione to his home-away-from-home.

Snape's private quarters were compact but still roomy. The door from the outside corridor opened into a sitting room with a dark red couch and accompanying armchair, a coffee table, several bookshelves (lined with various books and several jars of slimy items – much like his office), and a large fireplace, as well as typical adornments like a lamp in the corner and coasters on the table. From there, an open doorway on the right led into the kitchen, which was spotless. Cabinets sat comfortably on the walls above countertops, as well as a sink and a stove before stopping at the steel refrigerator that sat on the far wall. There was also a small dining table placed in the right corner just inside of the doorway. Snape hardly ever used the kitchen, so the space gave off a very empty and lonely appearance. Back in the sitting room, there were three other doors opposite of the kitchen – Snape's bedroom (and paired bathroom), a bathroom, and the guest bedroom.

"Cozy," Hermione said with a small smile once she had given the guest bedroom a thorough look.

"I will have a house-elf fetch you some clothes and other various items you may need. I suggest you make a list, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded before looking up at Snape, her lips pursed in thought.

"With all due respect, Professor," Hermione stated hesitantly. "I think you can call me 'Hermione.'"

"'Miss Granger' will do just fine."

"I think that with the current situation–"

"The _temporary _situation, Miss Granger," Snape drawled. "Let's not forget you will be heading home to your own time."

"Right," Hermione said, a slight edge to her voice. "I'll make that list for you, _sir_."

Snape raised a single eyebrow at the witch's icy tone in addressing him, then turned and strode off without another word. Hermione glared at the man's retreating figure before she entered the room and sat down at the desk. She dug in the desk's drawers momentarily until she found a yellowing piece of parchment, a ruffled quill, and a pot of ink that was nearly empty. Using what she had found, Hermione drafted a short list of items she would need for the time being: robes, pajamas, undergarments, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, and shampoo. Specifying her sizes for any clothing, Hermione finished off the list and rose from the desk. She sighed as she glanced around the guest bedroom and then back down at the list sitting before her. She would give anything to be home in her own bed, with her own belongings; she would give anything to be home with her husband.

Hermione found herself torn whenever she attempted to look at the current situation with any logical thought. It felt as if multiple emotional weights were constantly pulling at her from different directions. She loved being back at Hogwarts – its walls representing a home for the many wonderful memories she had made during her time in school – but her return to the school was far from ideal. She was grateful that she had found someone who could help her while keeping her presence in the past a secret, but the fact that this someone was Snape presented problems in itself. Since her time in school, Hermione had learned and seen many things that Snape could never know of, including the wizard's own future. However, Snape was sure to grow suspicious of her if he wasn't already, and Hermione had no idea what problems those suspicions may create. Would he leave her be or would he ask questions, or maybe do something more – perhaps trick her into ingesting Veritaserum?

Hermione also found herself struggling with how to define her relationship with Snape. They had clearly never been more than student and professor, with Hermione being far from Snape's favorite student and Snape being far from Hermione's favorite professor. Snape had always irritated Hermione by treating her like a lowly schoolgirl, frequently humiliating her and overall denying her brilliance. From the way he had spoken to her moments ago, it was clear that Snape would still address "future' Hermione in the same way. This fact only proved to irritate Hermione even further, as she was a highly respected individual in her own time and Snape obviously didn't care. Nonetheless, Hermione had trusted Snape to help her, and so far, he was doing so.

"Done?"

The cold voice made Hermione jump slightly and scoff at the man standing in the doorway.

"Yes," Hermione stated coolly as she handed the parchment over to Snape.

"I'll give this to the house-elf," Snape stated, glancing down at the list. "I'll also order dinner."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she looked past Snape and read the clock that was hanging in the sitting room. According to the clock, it was well into the evening, much to the witch's surprise. Hermione's stomach growled as she looked back to Snape.

"I didn't realize it was already so late," Hermione chuckled slightly. "Dinner sounds good. Oh, and make sure to thank the house-elves for me."

"_Thank_ the house-elves for you, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," Hermione said, slightly exasperated at Snape's sneer. "I'm the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures – I care for house-elves, Professor, even if you don't."

Snape could only give Hermione a sound of disgust as he left her once more.

It was less than thirty minutes later before Hermione found herself seated at Snape's dining table in Snape's kitchen with no one other than Snape himself. Dishes of steak, potatoes, and vegetables, as well as a bottle of red wine, sat between the two as they made their plates. The two ate in silence, and Hermione couldn't help but cast glances up at her former professor every now and then. She hadn't seen him in years, and even then, she had never interacted with him this closely even before his death. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face looked more sallow than usual – was that how he always looked or was that stress from the activities Hermione knew he was a part of during their Sixth Year? Overall, he looked a little gaunt, but was still the same Snape she had seen teaching her classes for several years.

Snape never looked up at her.

At the end of their awkward dinner, Snape moved to summon a few house-elves to clear the table, but Hermione stood and cleared her throat loudly. Annoyed, the wizard stopped and looked back, only to see Hermione ushering the dirty dishes from the table and into the sink with a wave of her wand. With another flick of her wrist, the sink began running hot water onto the dishes, soap appearing and pouring over the dishes as the water filled the basin. Only their two lone glasses of wine and the accompanying bottle remained on the table.

"Why even have a kitchen if you aren't going to use it?" Hermione smirked as the dishes began cleaning themselves with a final wave of her wand.

"Cleaning is for house-elves," Snape drawled. "And house-wives."

"Oh-ho!" Hermione laughed at the quick insult. "I think we both know I'm no house-wife, Professor Snape."

Hermione waved her wand once more, this time pouring herself another glass of wine as she retook her seat at the table.

"You misunderstand my joke, Miss Granger," Snape smirked as he moved to sit back down with her. "I was referring to your husband, Mr. Weasley."

At this, Hermione couldn't help but laugh aloud, a beaming grin on her face. The jokes were back-handed, yes, but Hermione had no problem keeping up. Something inside of Hermione egged her on, telling her not to back down to the wizard who oozed narcissism into the atmosphere around him. Another swipe of her wand and Snape's glass was also refilled. Snape merely continued to smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching in a slight smile as he accepted the drink.

"Well, cleaning isn't exactly Ron's specialty," Hermione giggled as she took a sip from her glass. "But at least he doesn't ring a bell and make helpless creatures do it for him."

"He surely has too much free time on his hands, then," Snape cut back.

"Compared to who?"

"Me, of course."

"I never knew yelling at students could be so time consuming."

"It's time consuming when all of your students can't tell the difference between a Pygmy Puff and a marshmallow," Snape snorted.

"I think it's unfair of you to generalize all of your students, Professor," Hermione reasoned.

"Why? Do you consider yourself to be superior, Miss Granger?"

"In some instances, I suppose, yes," Hermione answered curtly.

"A know-it-all and a narcissist," Snape smirked. "Quite the personality, Miss Granger. No wonder you have such an incessant need to please everyone around you."

"It's better than your incessant need to cut down people for merely expressing their confidence and individuality," Hermione said with an eyebrow raise as she sipped her wine. "That hardly clears you of being a know-it-all and a narcissist yourself, Professor."

"At least I have a claim to power," Snape growled.

"A claim to power?" Hermione snorted.

"I am a Potions Master and a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Snape answered dryly. "We've now come full circle back to Mr. Weasley. What exactly has he done? With all of the free time we've established he has – I assume no job–"

"And your assumption would be wrong," Hermione finished a little coldly, her tone dipping into an edge of seriousness.

The two stared each other down from across the table, Hermione's eyes briefly flickering with something dangerous. The underlying tension in the room was quickly coming front and center.

"Granger, always quick to defend her little friends–"

"We're not so little anymore, Professor," Hermione retorted, the alcohol giving her some courage.

Snape watched as the young witch took another sip of her wine, then stood and moved to leave. At the doorway, Hermione turned back and met eyes with him. A fire in her belly pushed her to speak once more.

"Professor, we both know that you were cruel to us during our time at Hogwarts, especially Harry. But we also both know that you care more than you let on. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here, but I suggest we try and make this work for the time-being," Hermione shrugged, pausing for a slight moment. "I'm off to bed. Goodnight, Professor Snape."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," Snape said softly, his eyes staring at Hermione intensely.

The man took a final sip of his wine as he watched the young witch depart from the kitchen. For a brief moment, Snape mulled over what Hermione had said, suspicion growing within him once again; the woman knew far more than she let on. However, this suspicion quickly ebbed away as Snape thought of how Hermione had said that they both knew he "cared." The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice had seemed to momentarily melt something within him, some invisible wall that he had never known was there. Hermione had confronted him without hesitation – possibly a side effect of the wine, but of that, Snape was unsure – and he couldn't deny that it had been impressive. In one conversation, she had seemed to emotionally unhinge him, even if it was only a little.

It was a well-known fact that Snape had no real family – no partner, no children, no friends – and he had only ever genuinely cared for a handful of people in his lifetime. Yet for a fleeting moment, Snape had actually felt guilty for angering Hermione during their conversation, almost as if he cared for her emotional well-being. This realization left a bad taste in Snape's mouth, and the wizard only continued to struggle with his own emotions as reflected over the conversation. As Snape thought once again of how Hermione had met his coldness with her own fire, he grew to feel a sense of pride for the woman swell in his chest, but he quickly squashed the feeling and scowled at his own mental compliment of the witch.

"Insufferable-know-it-all," he muttered under his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Hermione woke gently. At first, the young witch allowed her eyes to flutter open slowly, still considering succumbing to sleep again. After a few moments, Hermione opened her eyes and sleepily took in the dark and silent atmosphere around her. The elements reminded her of quiet Sunday mornings, when her and Ron had nowhere to be and the usually busy streets were nearly abandoned. The couple would always sleep in late, then they would enjoy brunch and tea before spending the rest of the day doing whatever they pleased. It was the one day they could give into their impulses; maybe have a movie marathon, try cooking something new, go shopping – whatever caught their interest. Hermione smiled at the thought.

Then, like a slap to the face, the events of the prior day came flooding back into Hermione's mind and she suddenly bolted upward, abandoning the warmth of the covers. Hermione quickly slid from the bed – gasping slightly at how cold the stone floor beneath her bare feet was – and made for the door, which she pulled open immediately. She found herself looking out into the sitting room of Snape's private quarters at Hogwarts, seemingly solidifying the reality that she was still stuck in the past. A swift glance at the clock hanging in the sitting room informed her it was nearly eleven o'clock, much to Hermione's dismay; she was never one to sleep in so late.

Hermione approached the closed door that she knew led to Snape's bedroom and knocked carefully, but there was no answer. Knowing Snape would not still be sleeping at eleven o'clock on a Wednesday, Hermione assumed he had already departed. However, just to be sure of her assumption, Hermione also called out for the wizard as she spared a glance around his Hogwarts home, but this only further proved her theory when she found no trace of Snape. Hermione recalled that there was usually only a single Defence Against the Dark Arts class taught on Wednesdays, which was for third year students and was during fourth period. Glancing back at the clock, Hermione noted that within the next hour, second period would come to an end and that lunch would begin in the Great Hall. Unsure of where Snape was currently (despite his free schedule) or when he would return, Hermione returned to her room to fetch a few of the items Snape had requested a house-elf to pick up for her the night before.

Hermione showered and dressed slowly, taking her time on even the most mundane of tasks. When she was finished, the young witch was dressed in a dark grey sweater and matching skirt (each with red and gold accents representative of Gryffindor House) complete with black dress shoes, black pantyhose, and Gryffindor House robes. She had also settled for tying her messy brown hair back in a ponytail. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows slightly as she surveyed herself once more in the bathroom mirror. She now looked like she had in her Sixth Year, which had been the whole point behind the ensemble. If in the instance that "future" Hermione happened to be seen by someone other than Snape, they would hopefully mistake her for "past" Hermione. Though Hermione planned on avoiding that situation at all costs, she couldn't help but be careful in the details. Regardless, the school uniform made her feel like a child, a feeling she wasn't quite fond of. A growling in her stomach distracted her from this thought, however.

It was now just a little past noon, and Hermione was starving, but she hesitated to summon for a house-elf. Snape had been the one to summon the house-elves the night before, and Hermione wondered how it would look to the house-elves if they responded to her requesting food from Snape's private quarters. With the idea of simply strolling into the Great Hall for a meal obviously being out of the question, Hermione wasn't sure of what to do. She needed someone who could provide her with the innerworkings of Hogwarts when Snape was absent, someone she could trust who wouldn't reveal her presence in the past.

"Dobby," Hermione gasped softly, the thought completely blindsiding her as she suddenly remembered that Dobby had become a kitchen worker at Hogwarts in the winter of her Fourth Year.

Without further delay, Hermione summoned for a very specific little house-elf to join her in Snape's private quarters. It was only a few moments later that a loud pop sounded in the sitting room and Hermione found a familiar creature no more than three-feet tall with large green eyes standing before her.

"Miss Granger!" the house-elf exclaimed in a high-pitched voice as he bowed deeply.

"Dobby!" Hermione grinned, feeling tears unexpectantly sting her eyes at the sight of the house-elf.

Before his death, Hermione had rarely interacted with Dobby, but that fact did not deter the wave of emotions she now found herself fighting. Dobby had been a loyal friend to Harry and had therefore been a loyal friend to each of Harry's friends. Hermione recalled how she had attempted to free the Hogwarts house-elves in her Fifth Year by hiding pieces of clothing she had knitted around Gryffindor Tower. Unfortunately, this plan only resulted in the house-elves refusing to clean Gryffindor Tower, thus leaving Dobby as the only willing participant who happily took and wore each of Hermione's knitted clothes as he cleaned. In addition to being a loyal friend, Dobby had also been an incredibly brave house-elf, occasionally putting himself in danger for the safety of others. This act eventually cost Dobby his life after he saved Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Malfoy Manor many years ago. It sent chills down Hermione's spine to think what might have happened – what Bellatrix might have done – if Dobby had not been there. Now, Hermione had to concentrate to hide her emotions as she looked at Dobby, who was oblivious to the fact that the young witch felt she owed him a great debt.

"Dobby, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, miss! Dobby will do anything!"

Hermione carefully explained to the house-elf that no one could know she was in Snape's private quarters, leaving out any details of why. She then explained how there were things that she may need during her stay that only Dobby could get for her, but Dobby had to do it secretly. Finally, Hermione asked the house-elf to bring her something to eat for lunch in return for more knitted clothes in the near future.

"Yes, miss!" the house-elf exclaimed with a nod once Hermione had finished. "Dobby will keep miss's secret and bring her lunch!"

With another loud pop, the house-elf vanished, off to help Hermione before she could properly thank him. Once Dobby had disappeared, Hermione let her emotions finally wash over her, taking a few moments to sob silently into her hands before eventually regaining her composure. She knew that seeing Dobby regularly would take an emotional toll on her, and she knew it was a risk to let someone else in on her secret (even if Dobby didn't have all of the information), but she also knew that Dobby – being a house-elf – would keep her secret and help her in any way possible. It was worth the leap she was taking.

It was less than twenty minutes later when Dobby returned with a spread of food for Hermione, including sandwiches, roast chicken, boiled potatoes, vegetables, and pumpkin juice. It was too much food, Hermione knew, but she told herself that she could save things. With the amount of food Dobby had brought her, she was sure she wouldn't starve over the next few days.

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione said with an amused smile as she surveyed the food now placed before her on the dining table in the kitchen.

"You is welcome, miss! Dobby is proud to help!"

"That will be all for now, Dobby. I'll let you know if I need anything else."

After the house-elf's second departure, Hermione enjoyed a ham sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice. She then packaged the rest of the food and placed it in Snape's refrigerator, which had previously been empty.

Hermione spent the remainder of the afternoon browsing Snape's many bookshelves, occasionally pulling books and reading a few pages from them. For dinner, Hermione heated a serving of roast chicken and vegetables, sitting down for another meal with still no sign of her former professor. Following dinner, Hermione sat down at the desk in her room and wrote out a work agenda for when she returned to the Ministry, unsure of when she would be able to return and how much she may have missed by then, but insistent on being organized nonetheless.

"They'll have sacked me by then, for all I know," Hermione grumbled as she looked over the list once she had finished.

Throughout her various activities, Hermione found herself easily fatigued despite none of the activities being strenuous. There were moments where she even felt light-headed and had to rest. These events, coupled with the fact that Hermione had slept in, concerned her. She pondered if her exhaustion was due to the time travel, but she decided to write it off as a side effect from the stress of the situation for the time-being.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Hermione began to grow increasingly worried at Snape's absence. She understood that Snape had his own schedule, and that that schedule was none of her concern, but it still worried her that she hadn't seen him all day. The witch sat in the sitting room rapidly tapping her right foot against the stone floor or repeatedly pacing back and forth past the coffee table, all while pondering if she should do something – and if so, what? At half-past-nine, an incredibly agitated Hermione made up her mind, grabbed her wand, and ventured out into the vast corridor that sat on the other side of the entrance of Snape's private quarters. Once outside of the door, Hermione took a shaky breath, immediately questioning her decision to leave the only place that was safe for her. It was past curfew and she looked like any other Hogwarts student who was apparently snooping around the castle, and she had no idea where Snape would even be at this hour; her impulsivity was quickly mounting to a poor choice.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, the tip of her wand illuminating immediately.

Trying to clear her mind, Hermione walked quickly down the corridor, taking a left, then a right, then another left until she reached the door that led to Snape's office. The door was closed, but to Hermione's immense relief, she could see light streaming from the small crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. She momentarily held her breath and carefully placed her ear against the door. When she heard nothing after a few still moments, Hermione pulled back, raised her left fist, and knocked. A bit of shuffling could be heard from the other side of the door, then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Hermione took a small step backward just as the door swung open with a loud creak and the doorway filled with the shape of a man who was dressed in flowing black robes.

"Miss Granger, do you have any idea what time it–"

Snape faltered as his eyes focused on Hermione's face, his stern gaze softening for a moment.

"Your counterpart was dressed nearly identically today. It's very convincing," he continued, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. "Your face gives you away."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to answer. The changes in his voice and in his manner caught her off guard; she hadn't expected him to be even remotely pleasant to her after the way dinner had ended the night before. Then again, the way he had commented on her face seemed to have had a hidden meaning to it.

"May I come in?" Hermione finally asked.

Snape stepped aside, allowing Hermione to pass over the threshold before closing the door behind her. Hermione noted that there was a new stack of papers perched on the corner of Snape's desk from when she had been in his office the day before. From the look of the quill and the fresh jar of ink sitting nearby, she assumed she had interrupted him grading students' essays.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Hermione said. "I was just… worried."

"My whereabouts really are not a concern of yours, Miss Granger," Snape answered resolutely as he returned to his desk.

"And I don't want them to be a concern of mine," Hermione said as she took a seat across from him. "It's just that you've been gone all day and it's late."

"I have classes to teach, Miss Granger. My life does not revolve around you."

"Your _class_ does not take all day," Hermione combatted, earning an eyebrow raise from the wizard. "Are you telling me you were here in your office all day?"

"I returned to my sleeping quarters after breakfast but found that you were still asleep. I assumed you could take care of yourself; perhaps I was mistaken."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Professor. I'm currently Head of the Department for–"

"–the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Snape interrupted. "Yes, you have mentioned that. Tell me, Miss Granger, is the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures known for sleeping well into the morning?"

"I don't usually do that!" Hermione snapped back quickly.

"And the HolyHead Harpies sweatshirt?" Snape sneered. "Is that proper Ministry attire in the future?"

"I was only wearing that to support Ginny!" Hermione shot back before quickly clapping her hands over her mouth as she realized what she had said.

"Ah, so Miss Weasley's obsession for quidditch proves to not be in vain after all, hm?" Snape reasoned, much to Hermione's horror.

"I–you weren't supposed to–you made me–"

"I didn't make you do anything, Miss Granger. You insist that you must keep the future a secret, yet you regularly provide me with information from the future."

"I have done no such thing!" Hermione blanched. "That was an accident!"

"Let's see," Snape raised his hands to make a show of the counting he was doing on his fingers. "According to you: in your time, the year is 2002; you're twenty-three-years-old; you work for the Ministry of Magic as Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; you're married to Weasley – and have been for just over two years; and you were sent back in time by an improperly destroyed Time-Turner."

"I had to tell you those things so you would believe me!" Hermione snapped back as she listened to him repeat the information she had given him upon her arrival in the past.

"You didn't _have _to tell me anything, and by doing so, you gave me more information than what you _voluntarily_ told me," Snape said shortly. "In addition to the aforementioned material, you told me that you left Hogwarts at the end of the Spring Term in 1999 and immediately began working for the Ministry. However, you should have finished your Seventh Year in 1998. Knowing that _the_ Hermione Granger would never willingly leave Hogwarts at the end of her Sixth Year, I think it's safe to assume that you were forced to leave and that you then returned to complete your Seventh Year in the fall of 1998. Also knowing that _the_ Hermione Granger would only leave Hogwarts to help her friends, I think it's also safe to assume that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley departed with you, though I highly doubt they returned to complete their Seventh Year like you did."

"Now, knowing what the Dark Lord has set in motion this year and my own role in it," Snape continued, a fierce glint in his eyes. "I'm certain that you three left to finish what was started. You returning to complete your Seventh Year just a year later tells me that you three succeeded. Am I incorrect in this reasoning, Miss Granger?"


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione stared at Snape, her mouth gaping slightly and her chest suddenly tight with anxiety. The man before her had just deciphered the gist of the trio's hunt for Horcruxes and the outcome of the Battle of Hogwarts all from Hermione stating the year she finished school No, he didn't know the details of the future, but he didn't have to know; he had the information he needed.

"I–I can't–" Hermione stumbled.

"All I ask is that you answer a few of my questions, Hermione," Snape suddenly stated, his features and his voice uncharacteristically soft. "It would put me at ease."

The use of her first name almost pushed Hermione into hysterics. She had only been in the year 1997 for less than 48 hours and she quite possibly may have just destroyed the future as she knew it. Who knows how she may have just altered her own time?

Snape seemed to register these fears in Hermione.

"Anything you tell me will remain between us," Snape said in the same soft voice. "And I can assure you it won't influence any of my future decisions. You can also refuse to answer any of my questions, though I think we both know that your refusal to answer a question will be seen as an answer in itself."

Hermione regarded her former professor with wide eyes. She knew many things about this man's future and she knew that if she were to share her knowledge of these things with him, it could potentially alter time on a grand scale, despite his promise it wouldn't. However, something pulled at Hermione, insisting she should trust Snape. There was a reason she had felt compelled to share her secret of being from the future with him when she had first encountered him, after all.

"May I ask you a question for every question you ask me?" she inquired after a few moments in thought.

"If you answer my questions completely," Snape said. "Then, yes."

"Okay," Hermione said with a shaky sigh. "Ask away."

"_Muffliato_," Snape muttered with a wave of his wand.

After casting the muffling charm, Snape casually rose from his seat and fetched a bottle of wine, a bottle of firewhisky, and two glasses from a nearby cabinet. He then quietly poured a glass of wine for Hermione and a glass of firewhisky for himself, setting them on his desk accordingly. Hermione hesitantly accepted the glass and took a sip as she watched the man return to his seat.

"Do you and Weasley have any children?" he asked after a moment.

"Oh, no," Hermione laughed through her nerves, surprised at the easy first question. "But we have discussed it. Ron has made it clear that he wants to be a father."

"Do you want to be a mother?"

"That's two questions in a row," Hermione commented with a smirk, feeling her tensions beginning to ebb away.

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched upward into a slight smile, which Hermione returned easily – much to her surprise.

"Maybe," Hermione answered anyway. "I would love to have children, but sometimes I wonder if I'd really be any good at it."

"I think you would make an excellent mother," Snape stated without hesitation, almost surprising himself at his compliment.

"Thank you," Hermione said, feeling a sense of sentiment for Snape swell briefly in her chest as she did.

"Go on," Snape urged. "Ask a question."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Spinner's End, a suburb of Cokeworth."

"Did you enjoy living there?"

"That's two questions in a row," Snape smirked.

"Well, then now we're even," Hermione smiled.

"I preferred Hogwarts," Snape replied evenly, avoiding diving any deeper into his reasoning on why. "Have you always been brilliant in every area of study?"

"Not quite," Hermione chuckled at the subtle compliment. "Flying always gave me trouble. Oh, and Divination. Though I wasn't very fond of Divination to begin with."

"I seem to recall an incident in which you walked out of Professor Trelawney's class one day during your Third Year."

"She insisted I didn't have the 'Second Sight,'" Hermione scoffed. "Divination – such an imprecise term of magic."

"Agreed. Though both flying and Divination I'm sure you can do without," Snape offered with a shrug of his shoulders as he examined the sour look that had come across Hermione's face at the mention of Divination.

"What was your favorite subject when you were in school?"

"The Dark Arts," Snape answered smoothly. "I excelled in them at an early age. Potions was a close second."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, reminded of the scribbles in the potions textbook Harry used in their Sixth Year, a textbook once owned by the Half-Blood Prince – who now sat sipping firewhisky before the young witch.

"What does Mr. Weasley do for a living in the future?" Snape asked.

"He's an Auror," Hermione said, a bit of pride in her tone as she did so.

"Ah, so Weasley is the one responsible for your appearance in the past then."

"That's two questions again," Hermione said, her face blushing a light shade of pink.

"It wasn't a question, but rather an inference. Yesterday, you told me that the Aurors in your time were asked to destroy all of the Ministry's Time-Turners that were rendered useless years ago, and that one was destroyed improperly. Now that I know Weasley is an Auror in the future, it's easy to assume–"

"It was actually me," Hermione interrupted. "I–well, I-I stepped on the bloody thing."

"You _stepped _on a Time-Turner?"

"Only because Ron dropped it on the floor!"

"Then I was correct in assuming Mr. Weasley's responsibility," Snape chuckled.

"Are you always this cynical and harsh?" Hermione remarked bitterly.

"You should know, Hermione; you were in my class for many years," the wizard replied smugly. "That also counts as a question."

"Then your question about my stepping on a Time-Turner should also count!" Hermione shot back, aghast.

"It was a rhetorical question, and those do not count. Now then," Snape said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have more pressing questions."

Hermione watched as Snape appeared to take a deep breath, steeling himself for the deeper conversation they had both been putting off for some time now. Hermione waited patiently, unsure of what to expect from the man.

"Do I return to Hogwarts next year?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered, though she refused to elaborate further on the conditions of his return or on the newly empty position he would be filling.

"Does… does everything go according to plan this year?"

A glint appeared in Snape's dark eyes as he asked the question. Hermione knew that the wizard was referencing the dark games that had been afoot during her Sixth Year and their countermeasures – the games that had worked to put Draco Malfoy in a position to kill Dumbledore for Voldemort and the countermeasure that was Snape carrying out the deed at the instruction of Dumbledore.

"Yes…" Hermione replied slowly.

"Then Dumbledore is–"

"Dead."

Hermione couldn't help the tears that slid down her face as she said it, once again overcome by the emotion of having to relive the death of a dear friend. Snape quickly pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his robes and leaned across his desk to offer it to Hermione, who took it with a gracious nod. The wizard then watched the young witch attempt to hastily dry her eyes, an immense weight pressing in on his chest at the sight of her crying.

"I'm sorry," Hermione stated, her voice thick. "Go ahead."

Snape hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to allow the woman to process her emotions and wanting to have his own burning questions answered. He decided upon the latter.

"Does Potter defeat the Dark Lord?"

The question hung in the air like a tense fog.

"Yes," Hermione replied with a watery smile. "I won't give you details, but it all works out in the end."

"How much longer?"

"A year or so," Hermione answered. "You were right – after our Sixth Year, Harry, Ron, and I won't return to Hogwarts until the final battle. We–well, we have some things to do first."

Snape noted her hesitation to disclose any further details on these "things" the trio were to be doing, but he said nothing of it. He stayed quiet for a moment, mulling something over as he stared at his hands that were now folded neatly in his lap. Hermione followed him into silence, watching his unchanging features carefully.

"How many lives are lost?" he asked, not looking up from his hands.

"Too many," Hermione replied, trying to keep her tone even despite the gruesome images that flashed momentarily through her mind.

The room filled with silence once more, and Hermione prepared herself for the question she knew must be posed to come next. If she were in his position, she would want to know the same thing.

"I die in this battle," the wizard said finally, looking directly into Hermione's eyes.

It wasn't a question.

The way in which Snape delivered the statement left Hermione reeling for a moment; it felt as if he had known all along. This was exactly what Hermione had been attempting to avoid with this conversation. She tried to understand how he had made the connection so definitively with so little information, momentarily thinking that he must have used Legilimency or he must have slipped some Veritaserum into her wine; she had tried to pick her words very carefully when replying to him, after all. No, she told herself, he wouldn't use that against her.

Hermione felt a deep sense of sorrow flow through her body as she stared back into Snape's eyes. He simply just knew.

"I'm so sorry, Severus," Hermione whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes again.

"That is why you looked so surprised to see me when I encountered you yesterday," Snape contemplated aloud, his face void of expression. "You looked like you had seen a ghost. That is because you had."

"Yes," Hermione said. "It's also why I have to stay hidden. I can't risk my younger self or anyone else seeing me, of course, but I also can't risk myself accidentally revealing the future by seeing someone that I know to be gone and reacting instinctively."

Tears were streaming down Hermione's face yet again. She dabbed at them with the handkerchief she was grasping tightly in her right hand. Seeing her cry over his loss, Snape could feel the witch emotionally pull at him, much like she had at dinner the night before. She had also addressed him by his first name, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the wizard.

As Snape observed the young woman before him, he found himself growing fond of her. Even as she cried, Hermione held herself with a form of dignity and grace that seemed almost too fitting. During their conversation, pieces of her wild brown hair had come astray from her ponytail, and Snape oddly found himself wanting to tuck the stray pieces neatly behind her ears while truly thanking her for caring about him. Snape wasn't sure what had come over him, but he felt a deep connection with Hermione in that moment. Perhaps he had been too hard on her. They had a lot in common, after all – they were both brilliant minds who had struggled to fit in, but eventually found their places. For a brief moment, Snape even saw the personality of Lily Evans in Hermione, but he immediately dismissed the thought.

"Why me then?" Snape asked, trying to bring himself back to reality. "Why trust me with this information?"

"You're reasonable," Hermione sighed through her tears. "You understand, I think more than anyone else, the role that one has to play for a greater good. I know that no matter what I tell you, you know that certain future events still must happen. Everything happened for a reason, and they have to play out the way they were meant to."

Hermione paused as she thought over her own words. As she thought, her right hand went up to the base of her throat instinctively, touching the thin scar she knew to be there. Images of Bellatrix Lestrange brandishing a knife in Malfoy Manor flashed before her eyes and the sound of a chandelier crashing down on her filled her ears briefly.

"Trust me," Hermione whispered, her hand still at her throat. "I wish things had been different, but we can't change the past."

Snape's eyes flicked to Hermione's hand as it rested delicately on her throat, a feeling of nausea rising in him at the thought of anyone hurting her, but he then quickly shook himself mentally and found her eyes with his own again. Snape let her words replay in his thoughts, silently agreeing with her; he very clearly understood his own role and he very clearly understood that things happen for a reason. He knew that his death was inevitable, and the fact that he had been working so closely with both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore for many years only furthered this idea; it was genuinely surprising he had lived this long. The thought didn't sadden him, as it was simply the life he had chosen to live – something Hermione seemed to understand quite easily. Snape felt a small smile tug at his lips as he thought about how the young woman that sat in front of him was truly the brightest witch of her age.

"Your portrait is hung up in the Headmaster's office, you know," Hermione suddenly said, a smile playing across her features as she rattled the wizard from his thoughts.

"Harry made sure it was," Hermione continued upon seeing the look of genuine surprise on Snape's face. "He said wonderful things of you; said that your portrait's rightful place was among the school's previous Headmasters."

The look of shock on Snape's features was unprecedented, making Hermione laugh.

"What, did you really think people wouldn't mourn you? Not everyone is as foul as you think they are, Severus. We all miss you."


	6. Chapter 6

"It's been a month and we're no closer to bringing Hermione home than we were the day she disappeared!"

"Mr. Weasley, I have dedicated many of the Ministry's resources to this dilemma – all of which are working diligently day and night – so I would appreciate you watch your tone when speaking with me," Kingsley stated coolly.

"Ron, why don't you take a seat?" Harry asked.

"_My wife is missing_!"

The impromptu meeting between Ron, Harry, and the Minister began when Ron had stormed into the Minister's office approximately ten minutes before, despite the protests of both Harry and the Minister's secretary. It had been a month since Hermione had tread on a Time-Turner and disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light that had left the entire Auror Department – and by extension, the entire Ministry – in a state of chaos. Many witches and wizards within the Ministry felt fondly for Hermione, who was kind and courteous, as well as a dedicated worker. Her absence was felt in nearly every department of the Ministry, especially the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which had been forced to assign Gethsemane Prickle as temporary Head of the department until Hermione returned. The Minister had assigned the Ministry's best Aurors, including Harry and Ron, to determining what had happened to Hermione and how to return her safely to the present. The Time-Turner that had broken and consequently launched Hermione into the past had been examined countless times, though it offered no new leads; it was destroyed, making it impossible to bring Hermione back with the timepiece.

The chaos in the Ministry was rivaled only by the chaos within Hermione's circle of friends and family, who had suffered greatly since her disappearance. The task of notifying those closest to Hermione of what happened had been left to Ron and Harry within two days of the Time-Turner incident. Hermione's parents, the entirety of the Weasley Family, Neville Longbottom (who was currently Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, though he had briefly served as an Auror after finishing school), Luna Lovegood (now a Magizoologist), and Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall were all contacted. The reaction was one of resounding shock and disbelief across the group. Hermione's parents called nearly every day, asking if there were any updates on her disappearance. Harry would occasionally came home to find Ginny in tears at the absence of her best friend, though the red-head attempted to hide her grief. Even the festivities planned to celebrate little Teddy Lupin's fourth birthday had been difficult to enjoy without Hermione.

It was obvious to everyone that Ron struggled the most with Hermione's absence. There were many nights where Ron would either stay with Harry and Ginny or stay with his parents at the Burrow to avoid going home alone to the flat he shared with Hermione. Ron quickly became irritable and uncooperative as time went on, and Harry had increasing difficulty reaching his best friend. Though no one acknowledged it aloud, most assumed that Ron felt responsible for Hermione's disappearance and that the weight of that guilt supposedly dragged on him. He received condolences on a regular basis, much to his annoyance. Though these assumptions of guilt were not incorrect, Ron despised the fact that it seemed as if everyone assumed Hermione to be lost forever.

That morning, Ron had seemed to officially snap when another Auror by the name of Williamson had patted him on the shoulder and told him that there were "plenty of other capable witches in the world." With that, Ron had stormed out of Auror Headquarters with a look of pure fury in his eyes, forcing a rattled Harry to run after him. It wasn't long before they were in the presence of the Minister.

"She's our friend too, Ron," Harry reasoned as he watched his friend pace the Minister's office angrily. "Just have a seat."

"There's gotta be something else we can do," Ron muttered, more to himself than aloud. "What would 'Mione do?"

Ron only succeeded in looking like a raving lunatic as he continued to pace. His ginger hair was a mess from all of the fidgeting his fingers had done in it, he was unshaven, and there were dark circles present under his eyes. Harry wasn't sure when Ron had last had a full night of sleep or had last eaten a sufficient meal.

"Probably go to the library," Harry grumbled in reply, halfheartedly attempting a joke.

At Harry's words, Ron suddenly stopped. He looked at Harry wildly, a dumb grin spreading across his face.

"Hogwarts," he mumbled. "That's it."

"What?" Harry asked, skeptical.

"Hogwarts!" Ron shouted. "She has to be at Hogwarts!"

"How do you figure that, Mr. Weasley?" Kingsley chimed in, his expression just as puzzled as Harry's.

"Think about it!" Ron stated wildly. "We know she has to have traveled in the past, but we don't know _when_ in the past. If it were recently, we would remember it, wouldn't we?"

"Uhm… Ron, I don't know if–"

"If Hermione had traveled to a time in the last four years, she would have just come to us for help, wouldn't she? But she didn't, or we'd remember it, mate! Which means she can't come to us for help in the time she's in! She has to be further back, like when we were at Hogwarts!"

"But if she we went back to a time when we were in school, don't you think McGonagall would remember seeing a future-version of Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Well, if she's in her own past, wouldn't she be forced to have communication with someone, if not McGonagall?" Kingsley reasoned. "Surely she would need help to stay hidden to keep from altering time, and she would go to someone she trusts."

"Hermione's smart," Ron contemplated as he continued his pacing. "She wouldn't talk to anyone we know now."

"What, you think she's with someone who we know to be dead then?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"I don't know, but it would make sense!" Ron stated excitedly. "She can't talk to someone who knows her in the future! She knows it'll mess with time!"

"But Ron," Harry argued. "Wouldn't she be messing with time if she was talking to someone who she knows is dead in our time? What if she gave the future away?"

"Then it has to be someone who already knows the future, Harry!"

"'Already knows the future?' Ron, you've gone mad–"

Harry stopped abruptly as his gaze caught on a framed photo of Kingsley's family that was seated on a corner of the Minister's desk. The subjects of the photo, who were waving and smiling at an unseen camera, reminded Harry of the many paintings hanging in the halls of Hogwarts. In fact, the photo reminded Harry of one very specific painting – or, more accurately, portrait – which he knew to currently be hanging in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore," Harry suddenly said, surprised. "You don't mean–"

"That barmy old codger knew about everything that was going to happen, Harry, and he kept it all to himself! If Hermione went to anyone for help, it's him!"

"The man sure did know how to keep a secret…" Kingsley stated softly.

"I think Dumbledore would have told us if he'd seen a future Hermione!" Harry said, not all too convinced himself.

"Mate, he didn't even tell any of us about you _dying _to end the war!"

"Well, that's a big piece of information!" Harry countered, somewhat amused. "Would you like to go around telling people about who's gonna have to die to end a war?"

"Harry, Dumbledore kept secrets from everyone," Ron reasoned. "We all knew this, Hermione too. She went to him for help, I know it!"

"I think a chat with his portrait at Hogwarts is in order then," Kingsley announced.

"And what if we're wrong?" Harry worried aloud. "For all we know, Hermione could have gone to a time well before we were in school."

"We spent six years there, mate! It's at least worth a shot," Ron stated. "Plus, what are the odds Hermione is in a time _before _Dumbledore? He's ancient!"

Harry looked at the hope etched into Ron's face and couldn't help but feel that this idea would only lead to more pain and disappointment for his friend. His theory was a complete shot in the dark. There were simply too many what-ifs and too many unknowns. They couldn't be sure what time Hermione had found herself in, or that she had found herself at Hogwarts, or that she had gone to anyone for help (much less someone they knew). What if she had travelled back to the Ministry in the year 1960? What if she had travelled to France in 1993, the year her parents whisked her away for a family vacation during their Third Year? What if she had travelled to a time when she was only a child, before she ever came to know Harry and Ron and the Wizarding World?

Everything they thought they knew about the situation had also already been thrown out. It was widely known that any Time-Turners issued by the Ministry were created with an Hour-Reversal Charm placed onto them. This charm created a limit of travelling back a maximum of five hours, a time frame that had been determined as the safety limit to the person travelling and to the fabrics of time. Despite these facts, Hermione had been gone for weeks. Unsure of how this happened, there was no predicting what effects time travel would have on Hermione. The longer she stayed, the more risks presented themselves.

Harry had too many questions and concerns, but as he looked at Ron, he could only shrug and agree that perhaps a trip to chat with Dumbledore's portrait may do them some good – whether or not he ever saw their Hermione in the past. It had been years since they had been at Hogwarts; maybe a trip down memory lane would help them in more ways than one.

"Well," Harry finally nodded. "I think we're going back."


End file.
